Once in a Lifetime

by Ginna Gray

  "Si, si. Ai yi, mi pobrecita," Constanza wailed, enveloping Abigail in a squashing hug that nearly suffocated her. "Can you ever forgive me, little one, for not taking your problem more-seriously? I should have let Pepe go with you. I should have—"

  "It's all right, Constanza. Really," she assured the tearful woman, patting her fleshy arm. An hysterical giggle bubbled up in Abigail's throat at the thought of Pepe acting as her protector, but she stifled it. It was clear that Constanza thought her scrawny little husband was muy macho.

  "But, senorita, you could have been killed!" She gasped, and her hand flew to her mouth. "Madre de Dios! What have I been thinking of. Are you all right, little one? Were you hurt?"

  "No. No, I'm fine."

  "Ah, muy bien."

  Pepe's thin chest puffed out. "You see, senorita, I told you that Senor Blaine would protect you."

  "As to that," David inserted, "I think that you and I need to have a little talk, mi amigo. Now." Clamping his broad hand around the back of Pepe's neck, he steered him, none too gently, toward a secluded table in the corner.

  Assured that Abigail was unharmed, Constanza recovered her composure and ushered her into the family's living quarters at the rear of the cantina. "Come. You will feel better once you have a bath and proper clothes. These things," she said, wrinkling her nose at the oversize jeans and shirt. "They are filthy. And fit only for an hombre. My daughter, Louisa, she is about your size. She will have something for you to wear. Something muy bonito."

  Abigail didn't stand a chance against Constanza's maternal bullying. Her protests were halfhearted at best, anyway. The thought of a warm bath and something clean to wear, something that she didn't have to keep hitching up every few minutes, was simply too tempting to resist.

  When Abigail returned to the cantina a half hour later, most of her soreness had been soaked away. At Constanza and her daughter's insistence, she had donned a full gathered print skirt and a gauzy, long-sleeved, aqua peasant blouse that did marvelous things for her eyes and skin and made her feel deliciously feminine. Clean and relaxed, smelling of Louisa's best perfume, her hair in a loose French braid, Abigail felt like a new woman—an attractive, intriguing, sensual woman.

  The looks she received from the male patrons reinforced her budding sense of feminine allure as well as bolstered her confidence. As a result, she was much more kindly disposed toward David and greeted him with a smile when he turned from hanging up the pay telephone located in the back corner of the cantina.

  He had used the time to clean up as well. His hair was still damp from the shower and, though he wore the same trail-stained jeans, he had purloined a fresh shirt from somewhere, a rusty brown chambray that complemented his eyes and brought out the red highlights in his dark hair. The rough material stretched taut across his broad shoulders and massive chest, and the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing brawny forearms sprinkled with dark hair. He looked rugged and heart-stoppingly male.

  Abigail's throat went dry, and she swallowed hard. "Di-did you get through to your cousin?"

  David treated her to a quick, frankly masculine appraisal, a strange glitter in his brown eyes as his gaze lingered on her creamy shoulders and the swell of her breasts beneath the soft batiste. Abigail felt the look all the way to her toes, but when he answered, his voice was flat, almost curt.

  "Yeah. He's on his way to headquarters to check out Patrice Johnson on the computer." David had also asked Travis to run a check on Abigail. He was confident that she was clean, as she claimed, but it didn't hurt to play it safe. Pulling a cigarette from a fresh pack in his shirt pocket, he lit up and inhaled. "I'll call him again when we get back from your hotel to see what he found out, if anything."

  Dammit, a prim librarian had no business looking like that. All soft and curvy and sexy as hell. Made a man want to cart her off someplace where it was quiet and isolated ... someplace like his boat.

  The errant thought jolted him. He must be nuts! Him and Miss Starchy Drawers? Uh-uh. No way. She was nothing but trouble. Besides... she wasn't even his type.

  "And just where did you get that?" Abigail demanded, her eyes on the glowing cigarette. "I know it's not part of the stash you found in the flour canister before we left the boat. You smoked those on the way here. So where did it come from?"

  "From Pepe's vending machine."

  "David, you know—"

  "Don't start with me, Legs," he warned, giving her a quelling look.

  He was in no mood to lock horns with her again over his smoking habit. Especially not after the frustrating session he'd just had with Pepe.

  Fat lot of good it had done to read his imaginative friend the riot act for getting him involved in Abigail's problems. Trying to get it through the man's head that he was no longer an agent was an exercise in futility. He might as well try to convince him that the Pope wasn't Catholic.

  No matter what he'd said, or how angry he'd gotten, or what dire threats he'd used, Pepe responded with a conspiratorial look and an earnest: "Si, si. I understand, mi amigo. You are head of security for Telecom International. You are just here for the fishing. Do not worry. That is all anyone will get from me. Pepe knows how to keep his mouth shut."

  What was worse, the difference between FBI and CIA was, at best, blurry in Pepe's mind. He seemed to think David was some kind of international spy. Dammit, he hated being mistaken for a spook!

  Abigail opened her mouth, but Pepe rushed up before she could say more.

  "Juanito has just returned from the hotel, mi amigo. It is all set. Rico will let us in through the back entrance. But come. We must hurry."

  "Who is Rico?" Abigail asked, as David took her arm and fell in behind Pepe.

  "Pepe's cousin. Between him and Constanza, they're kin to half the people on this island. I figured they'd have a relative working at the hotel, and I was right." He started out the door, but Abigail hung back.

  "Wait. I have to get Chelsea."

  "Leave her. Pepe's kids are playing with her in the back. She'll be fine until we return."

  "Oh, but—"

  "Dammit, Legs, the object is to sneak in without being spotted. We're not taking that yapping dog, and that's final."

  Abigail didn't like it, but he had a point.

  Pepe led the way, his scrawny chest puffed out with self-importance and his eyes dancing at the prospect of taking part in what was shaping up to be a real, honest to God, dangerous intelligence mission.

  They covered the three blocks to the hotel quickly, hugging the shadows beside the buildings and cutting through alleyways whenever they could. On the streets of San Cristobal, Abigail felt exposed, her nerves raw and jangled. Once, when a yowling cat streaked past them, she almost jumped out of her skin and barely managed to stifle a scream.

  "Here we are," Pepe whispered when they reached the back of the hotel. He gave the door three quick raps, paused, then knocked twice more. From the other side came a burst of four raps, followed by two more.

  David rolled his eyes.

  Pepe lifted his hand to knock again.

  "Oh, for cryin' out loud?" Rudely, David shoved him aside and put his mouth close to the door. "Rico, this is David Blaine. Unlock the damned door. Now."

  At once the door swung open.

  Pepe looked crestfallen, but David ignored him and hustled them inside. The door had no sooner closed behind them than Rico took off. From his nervous manner it was obvious that he did not share his cousin's enthusiasm for playing spy.

  David eased open the lobby door a crack. "Damn," he snarled.

  "What? What is is?"

  Hearing the urgency in Abigail's voice, Pepe edged closer. "Trouble, senor?"

  "One of those apes who tried to grab Abbey is keeping watch in the lobby. There are others out there, too, so he may have company. It's hard to tell. One of them looks familiar, though." Frowning, David studied the man through the crack. "Dammit, I've seen that guy somewhere before. But where?"

  He tried to recall b
ut could not place the man, and after a while he released the door and took Abigail's arm. "Pepe, you stay here and keep an eye on the lobby. If anyone—and I mean anyone—goes near that elevator, you hightail it upstairs pronto and warn us."

  "Si, mi amigo. You can count on Pepe," he replied, swelling up importantly at the assignment.

  They climbed the three flights carefully, making as little noise as possible. Abigail felt a chill, recalling the mad dash she'd made down the same stairwell the day before, her sandals clanging against the metal treads and Chelsea barking. Had it been only a little over twenty-four hours ago? It seemed as though an eternity had passed since then.

  The fourth floor hallway was deserted. They hurried down the carpeted corridor and let themselves into the room with Abbey's key. Once inside she collapsed back against the wall beside the door, her heart pounding in her chest.

  David flipped on a light and started searching with a quick efficiency that spoke of experience.

  "Why.. .they're empty!" Abigail exclaimed, staring at the drawers he had opened. She jerked open the closet doors and gaped at the bare hangers. "My things! They're gone!"

  "Looks that way," David replied without pausing in his search.

  "But Why would they take my clothes and things? They weren't worth much."

  "Could be so they can go through everything at their leisure. Or it could be that they figure they'll have to eliminate you, so they're trying to make it look like you never arrived on Alhaja Verde. I'd be willing to guess that the hotel no longer has any record of you ever being registered here. And if the airline lists you as a passenger at all, they probably show that you deplaned in Mexico City." He glanced her way, gauging her reaction. "If family or friends make inquiries, it's easier to hide what happened if they're following a false trail."

  "Oh, my stars," she whispered, looking at him, aghast. "Th-they really mean to kill me!"

  "Not if I can help it."

  Under the circumstances, Abigail was not reassured. She knew that David would do his best to protect her, but he was just one unarmed man pitted against the vast resources of the KGB.

  Feeling suddenly sick, she staggered into the bathroom. She stood braced against the sink until the wave of nausea passed, then splashed cool water over her face and neck.

  "Don't move."

  Abigail froze, her eyes widening above the towel she was using to dry her face. That wasn't David's voice!

  She turned slowly, but there was no one in the doorway.

  "We have been waiting for you, Mr. Blaine," came the voice again.

  Abigail crept to the door and peeked around the edge of the frame. The man stood just a couple of feet away with his back to her, but from his size she knew it was Shovel-face. He was holding a malevolent looking pistol pointed straight at David's heart. David stood motionless on the other side of the bed, his expression watchful.

  "Why don't you save yourself a lot of pain and tell us where it is? Huh?" the man said in accented English.

  "Where what is?" David returned with commendable calm.

  Shovel-face uttered what sounded like a curse. Abigail bit her lip. Oh, Lord, she had to do something. David was powerless.

  "Don't get smart. I can make things very unpleasant for you, Mr. Blaine. In fact... after what happened on the pier yesterday, I would enjoy it. Now where is it?"

  She needed a weapon. Quickly Abigail searched her purse. All she had that might do was a small pocket knife, but it wasn't big enough to inflict serious damage. Besides, she knew she could never bring herself to stab someone. Abigail cast a panicked look around, but the only thing in the bathroom other than towels and soap was a vase of fresh flowers.

  She picked up the vase, flowers and all. Taking a deep breath, she raised it high and eased out into the room with as much stealth as she could manage.

  To David's credit, he didn't so much as bat an eye, though she knew that he saw her. As she crept up behind the man Abigail was terrified that he would hear her heart thundering.

  "I told you, scum bucket, I don't know what you're talking about."

  Abigail's eyes widened. She couldn't believe it! David's tone was deliberately goading, his cocky grin a taunt in itself.

  The man tensed, and Abigail's heart leaped. Without giving herself time to think about it, she brought the vase crashing down on his head.

  He folded like a poleaxed ox, his knees buckling under him, pieces of shattered ceramic, water and flowers raining down over his head.

  "Atta girl! Way to go, sweetheart!" David leaped over the bed and was at her side in an instant.

  Her stunned gaze went from the collapsed man to David, and at the look of beaming approval on his face, fear and horror faded and a strange lightheadedness began to take hold. "I—I did it."

  "Yeah, you sure did, sweetheart. You did great."

  Elation and triumph bubbled up inside her. She grinned at him. "I really did, didn't I?"

  He chuckled and took her arm. "You're learning, I'll give you that. Now, c'mon, honey. It's time to get the hell outta Dodge."

  "Where did he come from?" Abigail gasped as they raced back down the stairs. "Pepe was supposed to warn— Oh, my stars! Do you think something has happened to him?"

  "Naw. Shovel-face was probably keeping a lookout from the room across the hall. Don't worry about it, just run. That goon has a head like concrete. He won't be out long."

  Abigail didn't need any more prodding. They loped down the stairs without regard for caution or silence. On the ground floor they were relieved to find Pepe still keeping watch on the lobby. Without stopping to explain, or even slowing down, David grabbed his arm and jerked him along with them. "C'mon, let's get the hell outta here! Run, man! Run!"

  Chapter Seven

  They tore out the back and down the dark alley as though the demons of hell were after them.

  David's long stride ate up the ground. With a hand clamped around Abigail's wrist, he hauled her along with him. Gasping, her cumbersome purse slapping her hip with every step, she strained to keep pace, her feet just skimming the ground. For a big man, David ran with amazing speed and agility.

  A few feet to the rear, Pepe pounded after them, his skinny legs and arms pumping like pistons.

  They had almost reached the alley entrance when the back door of the hotel crashed opened. Unable to resist, Abigail peeked over her shoulder and let out a squeak. A man stood silhouetted against the light from the open door, one arm extended.

  "Oh, my stars! They're going to shoot!" she yelped, even as a bullet whacked the building on their left and sent a chip of adobe plaster flying.

  "Dios!" Pepe gasped.

  David gave Abigail's arm a jerk and turned on more steam. "Run, dammit! Haul that cute little butt before you get it shot off!"

  Shouts and pounding footsteps followed them. They reached/the entrance, skidded around the corner and took off down the side street. They sprinted down the sidewalk for all they were worth, but they were still a few yards shy of the next corner when four men erupted from the alley behind them.

  "C'mon, you two. Haul it!"

  David ran a twisting course. For what to Abigail seemed an eternity, the chase wound through the back streets and alleys of San Cristobal, deserted at that hour but for a few derelicts and late-night revelers. David jerked her along in his wake, exhorting both her and Pepe to run faster, but no matter how much they strained, they could not outdistance the four men.

  Finally Pepe gasped, "This way, senor. I know a place we can hide. Follow me."

  He darted into a narrow alley, and David had no choice but to follow. After a hundred yards or so, another alley bisected the one they were in. Pepe turned down it and screeched to a halt at the first doorway.

  "Dammit, Pepe, what the hell are you doing?" David spat as the little man felt along the frame. "Jesus! We're dead meat if those goons catch us." '

  "This shop.. .it belongs to m-my.. .cousin Juan," Pepe panted. "He hides a... ke-key along... he-here so
mewhere."

  Abigail leaned against the wall. Her lungs were on fire, her heart was in overdrive, and her legs had turned to putty. Both she and Pepe were huffing like steam-driven locomotives. She didn't think she could run another step—not even if Freddy Krueger himself materialized in front of her. David was breathing hard, his massive chest heaving, but he seemed otherwise unaffected. If anything, Abigail noticed with disgust, he seemed to crackle with energy and leashed power.

  Flattening his back against the wall, David peaked around the corner the way they had come. "Well, hurry up and find it, will you? They'll be here any second."

  "It is under... Ah, here it is!" Pepe removed a palm-sized slab of plaster from the adobe. Quickly he picked out a key from a small hole and set the plaster back into place.

  "Good. Now quick! Get that door open! Hurry, man! Hurry!"

  Pepe fumbled with the lock. David peeked around the corner again, and his voice lowered with new urgency. "Hurry, dammit. Here they come."

  Abigail felt her racing heart lurch. She wrung her hands and switched from one foot to the other, her frantic gaze fixed on Pepe's hands. She was on the verge of pushing him aside and dealing with the balky lock herself when the door flew open so suddenly that Pepe fell inside.

  Abigail didn't need any urging to follow. David darted in behind her, so close she felt his chest against her back. In one smooth, continuous motion he shut the door, turned the key and shoved her to the floor.

  "Stay down. And don't move," he commanded.

  Less than a heartbeat later, running footsteps crunched to a halt in the intersection of the two alleys. A quick, short exchange was rapped out in guttural voices.

  Crunching steps separated from the others. The three crouched against the door exchanged a tense look. The fine hairs on Abigail's arms stood on end.